Sirens | An AMC'S Turn: Washington's Spies Fan Fiction

Nine

Ben was weak. He had been riding for God-knows how long without rest, and his limbs felt numb. Half of the time, he moved without thinking and would end up five miles past where he was supposed to stop. But it was night and he had to be on guard. He knew the Redcoats sent guards to patrol the area around their camps once the sun went down. One thought that hadn't left his mind since searching New Jersey for Liza was the thought that just maybe, Liza wasn't dead. Maybe she was trying to find her way back to him. And maybe, just maybe they would reunite and all would be right. He would marry her, protect her, and never allow her to feel pain again. But the moment this thought slipped into his mind, he admonished himself. It was a ridiculous notion that had no place in his thoughts. Still, he couldn't help but imagine a future with Miss Elizabeth Alcott.

Ben rode his gelding through the dense forest and stopped at a tree to rest for the night. A small cottage stood behind it, pathetic in size but brilliant in craftsmanship. He patted his horse and meant to step forward and take a closer look when a shot of heat and metal hit his side. Ben clutched his side and fell to the leaf-covered ground, giving into the darkness all around him.

-

If Liza had learned anything since leaving Setauket to fight, it was to be stealthy; to not bring any attention to herself. So when she concocted her escape plan, she made it as simple as possible: she would sneak out at three in the morning, when the moon began its slow descent to the earth's horizon. No guards were fully awake at this point and Liza knew the ones usually stationed would be snoring in their tents, none the wiser. The problem Liza faced was that of disguise: whether she dressed as herself or as a soldier, she would be shot. So, Liza decided to dress as confusingly as possible. She wore a nightgown, her uniform woolen coat, and best pair of trousers, making sure to hide a small knife in her left boot. She finished her look by tying her short blonde hair with a ribbon she managed to make out of blue fabric nicked off of a fallen soldier. She looked a bit like the makeshift dolls she made herself as a little girl. Liza would steal fabric from the Alcotts' servants and oftentimes, the dolls looked like something out of a nightmare. Liza flung her rucksack over her shoulder and started making her way into the dense forest. The moon shone its light on the dewy grass, and she breathed in deeply. The smell of October, of the ocean in the distance, and of dirt and vegetation calmed Liza's nerves. All she needed to do was make it out of the forest, walk three miles south, and then she would arrive at her shelter until it was safe to depart for Setauket. On the army's many perimeter inspections, Liza had noticed a small home on the edge of the woods. It seemed to be vacant, but she sensed that someone lived there...or was hiding. Despite her inner revolts, she decided it would make the perfect hiding place for herself.

The moon had sunk lower in the sky by the time Liza made it to the cottage. The dense forest around her swayed and drifted to the chilly breeze brushing against her skin. She shivered before pulling her coat closer to her thin frame and trudged on, ignoring the rumbling in her stomach. She had come to believe that hunger was a weakness, so she no longer listened to her stomach's desperate pleas to feed it. She only ate when absolutely necessary and when weak, she pushed her body until it could go no longer. This time was no different. Throwing her rucksack over her shoulder, Liza pushed in the cottage door, slipping the small knife that had been hidden in her boot, into her hand. But when she stepped through the threshold, something caught the laces of her boot and she descended towards the wooden floor.

-

Ben didn't remember how he had gotten into the cottage or how his wounds had been dressed. All he could remember was the light arms that had picked him up and the scared and lovely eyes of a woman who looked a few years older than him; the eyes that had stayed with him for nearly a week. They weren't the color of the ocean, but of moss and trees in the beginning of spring. When he had come to, the woman explained that he had been shot and that she had only dressed his wounds. Her name was Sarah Livingston, and her kind smile soothed the anxiety that created a fist in Ben's chest. When he was able to walk, Sarah invited him to eat with her at the table. They even prayed together. Ben had to admit that it was nice to eat with a woman again. It reminded him of all he held dear and what had kept him going throughout the war. But he also sensed that Ms. Livingston felt...lonely and desired more from him than simple friendship. When she had begun to make her feelings and desires known, he refused to reciprocate and promised to be gone within the next day or so. It had been a somber dinner and left him awake in the kitchen darkness, struggling to conceptualize Sarah's past and all she had been through. He did not wish to make her upset, but he only had one heart and a certain woman with golden blond hair and ocean eyes had claimed it hers long ago.